To the Long-Distance Daughters

When I was in 9th grade, I had a teacher tell me that she never regretted anything. I scoffed at the time, completely cynical towards her statement. There was no way you could live for decades without wishing you had done something differently, wishing you had made a different decision. For some reason, this specific statement has always stuck with me. I get what she means now. As many times as I’ve wondered “what if,” as many times as I’ve been angry at myself for picking something that felt wrong — these decisions all brought me to where I am today. I’ve always wondered what my life would be like if I had committed to university in Madrid rather than in Prague. I wonder what it would be like if I never moved to Europe at all. Would I have still ended up here? The thing is, this used to bother me, especially during the time in my life where I was so angry at the world and myself for where I was and how I was feeling. You always wonder “what if” when everything feels wrong. I completely refuted what my teacher said; there was absolutely no way she had no regrets in her life. But honestly, even if I wonder where I could have made another decision, I now understand that every decision, whether it was thought out for hours or a gut instinct, has brought me to my current position, sitting on a couch, typing this blog, in a cafe in Prague 7.

I’ve been grieving recently. I’ve been grieving a lot of the sacrifices that come with living far away from home, all of the moments you take for granted the first 18 years with your family. I’m grieving the day trips with my dad, the family bickering while watching a movie, going on a date with friends to Pittsburgh, driving around blasting music, laying in bed with my cat. I miss the people, the small moments that remind you that you’re supported. It’s not that I don’t get those here — I have those in abundance now, which I’m so grateful for, but in order to have those “this is what life is made for” moments here in Prague, I don’t get to have them as much in Pennsylvania. It sometimes feels as if my heart is split into two pieces, one in my body and one in the ghost of myself back home. Sometimes I feel really angry at myself for being in this position. A lot of it stems from feeling guilty for getting to experience this incredible city and travel and try new things while my family is back home. You know that quote from Barbie, “mothers stand still so their daughters can see how far they’ve come”? I hate it. I hate so much that I’m living this beautiful, privileged life in Europe while my parents are in the United States. I feel so guilty for enjoying my time here, like when family issues come up. Especially when family issues come up. I said that to my mom the other day, and she responded, “why would you want to be here for it?” which, ya know, was a very valid and humbling response. Because she’s right, as always. I wouldn’t want to be experiencing those issues there — I would be miserable. But because I have the privilege to hear about it from afar, because I can turn off my phone and pretend they’re not happening, I feel guilty. I’m grieving being close to my family, physically and emotionally. I talk to my mom every day, and I see my family once or twice a year for several weeks to months, but you never get to go back to the days of living at home with your parents as a teenager. I can go home, but I have my own life, my own relationships, my own bills to think about even when I’m home. I guess you could say I’m grieving growing up, too. I would never ever want to go back to high school, nor do I miss the lack of independence, but I do miss the simplicity that came from being a child. In another sense, I also know that I’m romanticizing being home, but what else are you supposed to do when you’re homesick? I’m not going to remind myself of all the fights, or the drama, or the fact that Pennsylvania feels so restricting. I know all of that, and while that does reinforce why I came here, I can’t help but question if it’s all worth it, living 4,000 miles away.

The other day I wrote this in my journal:

Part of moving away from home is grieving. Grieving the life you could have had, grieving the life you now have, grieving the life you’re missing, grieving the life you might have if you choose proximity. You grieve moments. Not meeting a new baby in your family. Not saying goodbye to your childhood pet. Missing birthdays, hard days, celebratory days, mundane days.

I grieve the life I could live if I move back. I grieve how I live if I don’t. I grieve the relationships I’ve lost, the ones that have changed, and the ones that have fought tooth and nail to maintain a spot 4,000 miles and 6 hours away. I grieve for my parents. I grieve for 18-year-old me, for the things she’s about to lose and gain. I grieve my parents not being able to come to my graduation; I grieve not having been able to go to my sister’s. I grieve the subtle differences in my parents every time I see them — another laugh line, a few more grey hairs, a slower pace, a softer laugh. I grieve the subtle changes they see in me — a new quip, a matured confidence, a shift in purpose. As I grow up, they wind down. We grieve each other.

I grieve the meals shared, the TV shows watched, the grocery trips, the day trips. Getting into trouble with my dad, learning something from my mom. Admiring them both for how well they’ve done raising me. Wishing they did not, because then I wouldn’t have been bold enough to leave. I grieve not being able to hug them. The virtual goodbyes. The photos sent. The emails forwarded. The letters sitting on my windowsill. The images on my walls.

When you move away from home, you’re moving away from comfort, from relationships, from old and new things. You miss the good and the bad. Even the celebrations hurt a little bit. You wouldn’t change your mind or take back your decision, but you constantly grieve. It ebbs and flows, like any pain from loss. Because you’re not sad about what you’ve lost, you’re sad about what you’ve gained.

If I could speak to my 9th grade teacher now, I would say that I understand now. I understand what she means when she said she doesn’t regret a single thing in her life, because it got her to where she is today. My mom is right, I wouldn’t want to be back home right now. I love my home, and I love visiting, but my life isn’t supposed to be there. I’ve known since I was a girl that I wanted to live far away from home. I knew there was so much out there to see, and so many of the choices I’ve made have been to provide me with the opportunity to see those things. I don’t take for granted that I’m living the life my parents raised me to live. When I say I’m grieving, it’s not in a resenting way. It’s the way I process things. I allow myself to feel homesick, I allow myself to express it. I journal, I talk to my parents, I talk to fellow long-distance daughters. There are days where I barely feel it at all, and days where it drowns me. Most of the time it’s the former. Whether you move across the state, across the country, or across the world, your home dynamic shifts when you leave. I think you should still do it. I think you should follow your heart, and if that’s taking you hundreds or thousands of miles away and you’re scared and homesick and doubtful, I think you should still do it. Do it scared and homesick and doubtful. If you were completely confident, I’d be more worried. There’s nothing wrong with grief, and there’s nothing wrong with regret, but you can’t let them consume your life. Both are just constant reminders that you aren’t living in the present. I told my mom the other day that I was worried about feeling selfish if I get a job abroad post-grad and continue being a long-distance daughter. Her response was to live my life and to keep money in my account for flights. People won’t resent you for following your heart, even if that’s thousands of miles away. Even if they do seem upset, it’s oftentimes them projecting their own fears or regrets onto you rather than actually being upset at you. Live your life, and they’ll figure it out.

So, to my fellow long-distance daughters, I want to reassure you that you aren’t selfish. You aren’t leaving your family behind. You aren’t giving up on a life at home. You were never meant to live that life if you’re sitting down, reading this post, thousands of miles away from home. Don’t regret a life you never lived, because it’s not yours to regret. You can grieve, you can feel angry, you can feel guilty, you can feel happy, you can feel free, you can feel excited. Every single thing you’re feeling is so valid, because you’re doing the damn thing. You are living widely, away from what’s comfortable and what’s safe, and you’re thriving. Every time you go home, I want you to remind yourself how far you’ve come. I want you to appreciate the time you have with your family, and the time you have away, because they raised you to do this and you deserve to live a life without regret.